It was 10:30 pm when a short message flashed on my phone screen from a community member: ‘Got attacked today by white guys’. I called the person back straight away.

The member was a woman, a global majority person, whom I’ve known for years. We both know about racism, of course, and far too closely for our liking.

We talked quietly for 40 minutes, with long silences between our words. I asked her, ‘Have you called X?’, referring to someone who lived near her. She replied, ‘No, I don’t want people near me to worry about me.’ No wonder she messaged me; I live several hundred miles away from her.

She was exhausted and dazed, and in pain from physical injuries – she said she was kicked by the men. We discussed seeking medical help, but she sounded rather hesitant – she had previously been made to feel unwelcome at a hospital due to her immigration status, and her hesitation was entirely understandable.

She told me the attack happened in broad daylight, in a public space. From her description, it seemed to be a random and sudden act of violence. Two people came to her aid, she said. One of them, while comforting her, said, ‘Not everyone is a racist here. I am not a racist.’

Someone called the police, but she returned to her flat as soon as she could. She didn’t want to be there, she said. When she reached her flat, she just sat there for hours until she messaged me. She was in shock.

After establishing that she had taken ibuprofen for her pain and encouraging her to make a vague promise to visit her GP the following day, I hung up the phone. I messaged an ally who lives near the community member, asking for support – admittedly, the community member might not have liked me to do that, but it was too late. The ally replied, ‘Unfortunately, something like that is fairly common in [area where the community member was attacked].’

A week later, one of my colleagues forwarded me a message from another community member. An ‘auditor’ had entered her accommodation building uninvited and harassed residents who unsuspectingly opened their doors to the intruder. The community member, a global majority person, was frightened and besides herself with worry. 

I called her to find out what had happened. She also informed me that a racist protest was scheduled to take place outside the accommodation in a few weeks. She sent me a photo of an A4 notice from the accommodation provider, which contained an un-reassuring message advising residents to lock their doors and remain in their rooms during the protest. As if a closed door is going to shield people from hatred. 

Later that day, the same community member forwarded me a reel that the ‘auditor’ had posted on Facebook. I observed that it had already been shared hundreds of times. In the shaky reel, the ‘auditor’ — a white man accompanied by another white man wearing sunglasses — talked loudly about ‘illegal migrants’ and a ‘girls’ school nearby’, while filming the community member’s building, its internal corridor, and the doors to residents’ rooms. 

I emailed the accommodation provider asking for information about the action they were taking regarding the reel and the direct threat posed by the ‘auditor’. I had previously been provided with a list of email addresses for emergencies, which included vague words such as ‘intelligence’, ‘security’, and ‘partnership’. Unsurprisingly, I received no response, including from the area manager whose direct email address had been provided.

These attacks are happening in our Right to Remain world. And the rest of the world feels incomprehensive and maddening too. 

The government has issued ‘promotional material’ titled ‘Understanding Behaviours and Expectations in the UK: A Guide for Asylum Seekers’. The government is actively provoking further division by championing an inflammatory narrative that categorises all asylum-seeking men as ‘would-be rapists’. This is happening while racist thugs are roaming our streets, terrorising our community in the name of ‘protecting women and children’, attacking global-majority women community members. These racist acts are not just condoned, tacitly encouraged. This situation defies logic.

While no one in a position of power or authority is prepared to categorically and unequivocally condemn racist violence (which does not surprise us by the way), I want to tell you about what these Global Majority women, who have been targeted by racists, are doing. It feels crucial to share this so we can remain calm and grounded.

One of them is getting ready to celebrate community solidarity with other women. We know such gatherings are nourishing, and someone needs to organise them. Another has been organising her fellow residents in the building, sharing information and helping non-English speakers understand what is happening and remain safe from racists. She is also preparing to march for freedom at a local event, alongside other community members.

I know they will be shining at the gathering and at the march. They will be full of love for others, with radiant smiles. I also know they will not be discussing what has happened to them lately; neither the gathering nor the march will erase their experience of racist violence. They know, as do we, that no one is coming to help us – and we need to continue to survive. They also know, as do we, that we can only achieve this by finding strength in our solidarity. That is why we need to show up for each other and for ourselves. And if you are not targeted by racism, you have even more reason to show up for your fellow human beings.

These are the experiences we share and reflect on within our Right to Remain team. Often, our rage at this violent and racist world makes us feel deranged. Our sense of rage is so deep and powerful that we usually cannot find suitable words to express it. (To be truthful, that is why we do not issue statements of anger constantly, as other organisations do.)

We cannot be the only group of people reeling from the onslaught of racism and racist violence, while needing to find strength to show up for ourselves and others. Therefore, Right to Remain will be holding space for other people and groups in September, in our spirit of radical solidarity, with the topic of violence against asylum accommodation. We all need to be learning and practising collective care more than ever – and this is our offering. We will be sending out invitations to our allies shortly, so please watch your inbox. And if your group is interested, get in touch. 

In the meantime, we continue to build knowledge, radical solidarity and power that boosts the migration justice movement. Join us at one of our Knowledge is Power sessions in September, to learn with others how to protect our community and stand in solidarity with people seeking asylum and migrants. (Particularly this one!) We strongly encourage you to learn together with others: asserting rights requires more than knowledge: it demands solidarity, trust, and safety.

In solidarity, always

Eiri Ohtani, Director